


Mesnée d'Hellequin

by ThisAintBC



Series: More Joy Day [1]
Category: Canadian 6 Degrees, due South
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, More Joy Day Fest, Relationship Discussions, going for the fanfic cliche trifecta, handcuffed to a radiator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisAintBC/pseuds/ThisAintBC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For reasons that do not need exploring at this juncture, Constable Benton Fraser was handcuffed to a radiator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mesnée d'Hellequin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deputychairman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deputychairman/gifts).



> Poor Seascribe held my hand through writing this--and then beta'd it for me--and deserves all the awards.  
> I might be doing More Joy Day wrong. I apologise if that's the case.

For reasons that do not need exploring at this juncture, Constable Benton Fraser was handcuffed to a radiator.

The men that had been assigned to watch him had seemed quite solicitous in spite of that, offering him water and studiously addressing him by rank.  They seemed to be neither apologetic at his situation nor interested in being particularly cruel; when they had looked in on him, presumably at the rotation of the guards, all focus had been on ensuring that both his handcuffs and the larger room remained secure. Their suits were perhaps a little cliché, but as a man who habitually walked around in full dress uniform Fraser was fully prepared to admit that he had little room to cast stones.

All in all, they were really very professional. He suspected that this meant that he was a great deal more trouble than he had originally assumed.

Feet pounded down the corridor, and the thin door couldn’t quite conceal the panicked tone in the whispered exchange, even if it prevented him from hearing the exact words exchanged. The two man team set in front of his improvised cell exchanged a truly breathtaking breadth of curses and began moving away from the door, and he gritted his teeth and gripped his cuffed hand firmly. A gunshot rang out, his thumb dislocated, and the guards charged away, precisely as he had predicted.

The pain left him gasping for air, and he struggled pointlessly against the radiator for a few seconds. The cuffs slid down his wrist, onto his hand just far enough to put pressure on the dislocated joint, but eventually he had to concede that they would go no further without some sort of lubricant.

Swaggering footsteps returned toward him, and he searched frantically for soothing words and some sort of weapon. A blonde man shoved the door open, and sharp blue eyes landed on him, relief and anger etched across his face in equal measure.

“What the hell,” he growled, crossing the room and examining the handcuffs with surprisingly gentle hands, “were you thinking? I was standing right there, Fraser, _right there_ , it would’ve taken two seconds to call for back up, but oh no, you had to be Super Mountie, didn’t you?”

“I—“

“And don’t think I didn’t notice you took off just as I was trying to talk to you about immigration. If you don’t stop running away from this, Ben, I swear I will…I’ll…” a smirk suddenly replaced the concern on his face, and he leaned in close, breath brushing Fraser’s intimately. He closed his eyes and was certain he was blushing, but didn’t move as the man’s lips slowly descended onto his own. The kiss was slow and sensual, and he grabbed a muscular arm and wished for nothing more than to have his hand free so he could keep this man as close as possible for as long as possible. “If you don’t stop running,” he heard but didn’t quite manage to process as teeth nipped wickedly at the corner of his mouth, “I’ll just leave you here handcuffed to this radiator.”

“What,” Fraser gasped, “but,” and surged up for another kiss, and couldn’t quite smother a growl when the man rocked back on his heels, just out of reach.

“Look, Fraser.” He said, ruffling his hair absent-mindedly. “I know we haven’t said much about this, but you gotta stop yanking me around here, all right? No more back alley duets. We’ll go, if you want to go; hell, Vecchio asked me a month ago why we were still hanging around. And if you don’t want this, and you want to stay, we can do that too. But you’ve gotta make a choice, here.”

Fraser stared at him and tried to sort through everything that had just happened. “So, to clarify: you want me, and I want you, and we have yet to act on these feelings in any significant manner?”

“Stop statin’ the obvious, Fraser, half the station knows that.” His annoyance shone through clear as day, but there was a note of hopeful curiosity in the empty space at the end of his sentence.

“And if we do, ah, initiate a relationship, then we will leave the city and make a home for ourselves?”

“Ain’t nobody said it would be easy, but yeah. I’ll probably spend half my days madder than a wet cat, stuck living with you and all your, what’s it called, passion-aggression, but damn it, Ben, the other half would be worth it.”

“Then it seems clear to me that the only thing holding us back is my own fear and failings, and as you appear to have conquered yours I can ask myself to do no less.” He hoped this was the right decision; it was made with hardly any of the facts, but perhaps all the day-to-day concerns of his life had been blinding him to what seemed to be an obvious choice. The man grinned and leapt to his feet, dancing a circuit around the room. He was, Fraser noted--with not a small bit of wonder, unable to keep his eyes off the way his hips twisted and his arms flexed--boxing, and quite expertly. He returned in front of the radiator and dropped to his knees, and was leaning forward with mischief in his eyes when the question that had been on Fraser’s lips since the second he walked in the room couldn’t be contained any longer.

“Pardon my asking,” he said, licking his lips just to watch blue eyes track his tongue, “but who, precisely, are you?”

Behind him, the radiator thumped and began to hiss, and blonde hair tickled his neck as the man laughed helplessly into his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> For reasons that are hopefully obvious, the working title of this was "The Harlequin AU". I decided to go with it; Mesnée d'Hellequin is the French name for the Wild Hunt, according to Wikipedia, which was likely the tradition from which harlequins derived. And the rest, as they say is history.  
> I hope you liked it, Deputy! Happy More Joy Day!


End file.
